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My husband often teases me about the number of food memoirs I read. It’s true – I love a good food memoir. Or maybe I just really like food.

I started this blog with the intention of defining the type of kitchen I want to have for my family, which right now is just Ryan, me, and our worm farm (more on that another day). I grew up in the food business. My father owned a hoagie shop in our area and we ate a lot of hoagies and a lot of Tastykakes.  Our lunches consisted of bologna and cheese, peanut butter and jelly, and hot dogs.  In fact, my mother even sent me to school one day with a thermos filled with hot water and a hot dog. On occassion, I would go to my best friend Danielle’s house for lunch where we were greeted with a steaming pot of homemade chicken noodle soup, fresh fruit, sandwiches and usually some sort of cake made from scratch. Her grandmother and mother often cooked together and taught her to cook as well. Everyone was jealous of me because my family owned a sandwich shop and I was jealous of Danielle because of the warm, welcoming kitchen of homemade meals.


I was at the library last night looking for another book on food and came across Miriam’s Kitchen – a memoir that blends recipes and food reminiscences with family narratives and observations about the author’s personal evolution as a Jew. She weaves the stories from four generations of family life and recounts stories of how her motherin-law taught her to make chicken livers with noodles and how they survived a Nazi labor camp in Poland during the Holocaust.  The concept reminded me of the tradition in Danielle’s house and my desire for those memories/traditions in my own family. I’ll share some recipes and thoughts on this memoir after I finish My Life in France by Julia Child. Damn, my husband was right.

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